


Twenty Five Tales of Christmas on Runeterra

by 13_Maidens_Dancing_in_Skyros_Bay, BraumsaysBlackLivesMatter (13_Maidens_Dancing_in_Skyros_Bay)



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Bristle is a goodboi, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Gaaah I love love, Gen, Zoe is learning how to bake from the one and only
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13_Maidens_Dancing_in_Skyros_Bay/pseuds/13_Maidens_Dancing_in_Skyros_Bay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/13_Maidens_Dancing_in_Skyros_Bay/pseuds/BraumsaysBlackLivesMatter
Summary: Of course they don't call it Christmas, and some of these will take place on alternate realities. But I present to you a series of wholesome one-shots, featuring a sprig of romance, a dash of humor, a smattering of friendship, and a heaping helping of Wintertime cheer.Comment requests for relationships, characters you want to see, the setting, all of it. Will be updating daily.
Kudos: 12





	1. And A Drüvask in a Pear Tree

**In which Olaf tries to give the Perfect Gift**

There were lots of things said about the Winter’s Claw. Mostly by those envious of their victories and affronted at their wealth. Many of the things said, the whispers of savagery and the accusations of arson, were accurate summations of their raiding tactics. It was also said that the Winter’s Claw reveled and feasted with the best of them, and this was especially true in that sacred time surrounding the Wintersolstice. While many tribes in the Freljord celebrated the Deepwinter with wild dances and strong drinks, the dances of the Winter’s Claw were like battles in their aftermath, and their brews could knock over a bull Elnuk. The Winter’s Claw partied hard, and Sejuani often partied the hardest. Today though was a bit different. The Claws had found themselves a wealth of goods from a profitable series of one-sided exchanges south of the border mountains that protect the the kingdoms of cattle and folk who were cattle-minded. While Sejuani wasn’t one to rest on her laurels, she knew when her warriors needed their rest. So she announced that, in celebration of the many bounties, they would honor the Old Gods with feasting, drinking, oath-making, gift-giving, and gameplaying, as was custom. Yet while her comrades shouted and caelidhed around the great bonfires, the Warmother herself toiled in a secluded area away from the party. 

There she attended to the greatest and most loyal of her warriors, the drüvask boar Bristle. If there was one chink in her mighty armor, one weakpoint in her hardness, it was to Bristle. Even now as Sejuani beheld him, a beast large even for his kind, she could see nothing but the grunting, angry, wide-eyed little pig trapped in a Noxian cage. When Bristle ailed or otherwise required attention, as he did now, Sejuani would never hesitate to ensure his health and comfort whatever state of injury she herself may be in. 

Currently, Sejuani was using a bone pick to remove the bits of gristle and rubble caught between the toes on Bristles back feet, which the boar held gingerly in the air to grant Sejuani access. Sejuani herself was in a foul mood, not at the thought of the task itself, but at the audacity of the weak for their brittle bones and more fragile steel bothered her friend even weeks after the battles won. Sejuani snorted at the thought, “battles” was an exaggeration in favor of their now-crushed opponents, and yet their efforts managed to vex her boar. Each hunk of bloodcaked-mud and each splintering chunk of pathetic fencing was an impetuous insult from those too pathetic to deliver much of a showing themselves. This was of course not even mentioning the general state of Bristle’s fur and kit, muddied and torn from battle. Sejuani glowered at the knowledge that more hours would be required fixing the petty damages wrought by the meek. 

So it was in this foul mood when the second greatest of her warriors, the Berserker Olaf, lumbered up the hill from the party to find his Warmother in the midst of what looked to be menial labor.

“Warmother” came the deep rumble. “Your host would like to honor the strength of your leadership.” When Sejuani remained silent, the reaver continued, “We were hoping you might come to the fire and celebrate with us.” 

“You must content yourselves with my absence, I have more important matters.” Sejuani replied without turning to look. The dismissal stung Olaf, but he knew better than to make any sort of protest, so he fumbled about his person to produce a different tactic. 

“Then you might honor me and accept this gift?” At this Sejuani stopped, set the great foot and pick down, and sighed. 

“What do you have for-” and after she turned, “what is this?” 

“A treasure of the victories to which you lead us! I am told that Southerners use these in the preparation of their dishes. See the little holes in the top? It allows for the even distibution of…” Olaf looked up from the shakers in his hand to Sejuani’s face “spices…” 

________

“But she accepted the gift?”

“Aye, like an Avarosan taking to anything stronger than water.”

“So she didn’t like it.”

“I fear not, and still she sits up there tending to her beast.”

“As mysterious as the winter is harsh.” Steffen opined, and at this Olaf nodded.

The Scarthane and the Berserker sat on a log before one of the great fires. The dancing had subsided, as the hours of drinking and feasting were beginning to cast their lethargic spell on the clan, and many perched on logs, camped around smaller fires, or retired to their tents. 

“I would like nothing more than to prove my, my”

“Appreciation?”

“Yes, she found me an aimless winter gust, and brought me to her great storm. I want t thank her for everything, yet.”

“The Wildclaw got your tongue?” Steffen took another drag of meade.

“Aye, got it good.” 

The two men sat in silence for a time, two hulking mountains of muscles and scars, perplexed. 

“I am a fool.” Olaf kicked the snow, “Of course she has no use for the trinkets of the weak.” 

“And what might you present her instead?” Steffen asked. His attention was being dragged away from his companion, and towards a handsome visage that sat on a log across the great fire.

“Only the mightiest of trophies, from the most glorious of kills! I will, no I don’t have a boat, but perhaps?”

“We are many weeks from the coast.”

“Then I will journey north to the realm of trolls?” 

“And what? She has plenty of tusks.” 

“Then further north, the great Wanderers with that Baleful sight!”

“And you’d never return and I would have lost one of my fiercest warriors to their oblivating light.” Steffen did not say this, and both men jumped to their feet and turned to see Sejuani standing behind them, a bemused smile on her face, and a bowl of stew in her hands.

“Warmother!” Both men straightened their backs, and Olaf hoped the light of the fire might hide the raging redness that he knew decorated his face. 

“Sit, I wish to speak to you, Olaf.” At this the two men made brief eye contact, Steffen clapped his fellow on the back, nodded, and alighted to that other log to join his bloodsworn. 

“Warmother, I must make my apolog-”

“Nonsense Olaf, and please, there is no need for such petty honorifics when the gods themselves are with us tonight.” Sejuani took Steffen’s seat, and Olaf sunk slowly to sit next to her. They sat their for a moment, Sejuani staring into the fire, Olaf trying to mimic her, but finding his gaze returning to rest on her storm-hardened face. Framed by snow white hair that told of her Iceborn heritage, those icy blue eyes that could pierce through the mightiest of glaciers, that could pierce the veil of Olaf’s famed berserker’s fury, held something in them that Olaf did not wholly recognize.

“I thank you for your gift, Olaf.” Sejuani said without turning, and Olaf realized at once that he was staring, and that she knew he was staring, and his gaze snapped to the fire.

“I, I’m not so sure it was entirely appropriate.” He admitted, feeling a tide of shame flow through his heart as he did so. “A relic of the decadence of the weak.” 

“It is”

Olaf hung his head.

“But what’s inside...” and Olaf looked up again in time to see Sejuani’s gaze flick back to the fire. “Whatever these spices are, they are the one thing those Warmbloods and I agree on.” Sejuani didn’t laugh, but there was a laugh hidden in the tone of her words, and a ghost of a smile that played on her face with the ephemeral light of the fire. 

“Ah! It is good? I did not taste for myself…” Olaf felt a flush of exuberance now that swept away the negative feelings that had stirred in his heart. 

“Then please.” Sejuani offered a spoonful of broth, yet when Olaf tried to take it, she held back, “Open your mouth.” 

So the Berserker did so, and accepted the gift she gave him, at once a sweet kind of fire flooded his oft-neglected tastebuds, inspiring a noise in the berserker most un-berserker like. Sejuani let out the tiniest of giggles.

“That is good.” Olaf agreed, and the pair settled into comfortable quiet. 

After what was objectively several minutes, but felt to Olaf like much longer, he worked up the courage to say something.

“Your boar,”

“Bristle?” 

“Yes, he is a handsome and fearsome beast.”

“Fearsome certainly, but handsome?” Sejuani asked in mock-disbelief

“The most magnificent steed I’ve ever seen.” Olaf boasted. “He gleams brighter than a Demacian Warhorse and fights harder than a Basilisk!” 

“He would be very charmed to hear that.” Sejuani smirked. Olaf let the wide smile burst upon his own face. 

“The fiercest of all your Bloodsworn, An honorable death is to be head under those cloven feet.” 

They both laughed, Sejuani punched him, and they continued in their banter for some time. Then, like the shifting winds, Sejuani’s face grew somber. 

“When I found him, he was much smaller. Imprisoned by those Noxian bastards. He was just as angry as he is now, just as fierce, the way he thrashed against those chains and bars, I could tell he was a kindred spirit.” 

Olaf nodded in appreciation, feeling somehow that his leader was imparting some wisdom that he was sure went partially if not fully over his head. 

“He fought me too, even as I freed him. His tusks and fur like the bite of a storm. But then I looked into his eyes, he looked into mine. We recognized each other then, two creatures shackled for far too long, and we fought side by side then. Those Noxians were the first we killed together.” 

Sejuani looked at Olaf then, fixing him with that hard icy gaze. He looked back unblinking.

“A tale to be told around fires from here to Shurima.” Olaf murmured. “Of how the Great Sejuani came to know the Indomitable Bristle.”

The pair finished their night together contented, staring into the fire, swapping stories, and drinking to health and victory. When at last, Sejuani retired to her own tent, her gaze as she left lingered on Olaf’s mind for a while after that. Then, he had an idea.

_____________

Sejuani stirred awake the next day, early, and felt content enough to sit in her tent, and allow herself some measure of stillness before continuing to her chores. 

Then she heard a squeal, and a great cry. Her heart leapt into battle and her teeth set, she flung herself out of her bag. The squeals, unmistakeably Bristles, he was in trouble. Something had set upon him. Enemies that, in their cowardice, sought to rob her of her greatest weapon. 

She dashed out of her tent and through the campsite, startling the weary tribesmen that had hung about around the camp. Finally, she broke through the circle of tents to the hillside where the beasts slept, and found herself confused.

There was Bristle, squealing and grunting like she’d never heard him before, and there was Olaf, currently on his back as the great boar had pinned him down and was washing his face in great licks of his tongue. More than that, Bristle’s white fur shone like fresh snow, his tusks a pure ivory, there was not a trace of the grime or mud of the season’s raids. 

“Beast! You fight well! But I am Olaf!” And so the red haired berserker rolled out from under Bristle. Sejuani watched as the man took an armful of snow and threw it up, all over the boar. She kept watching as Bristle bounded and pranced back and forth through the snowfall like a fawn at play, shaking the mountainside with each joyful leap. 

Then, out of nowhere, something cold and wet hit her in the chest. Sejuani looked down to see the remains of a packed ball of snow that made impact above her heart. She looked up to a sheepish looking Olaf, who was looking the other way, a ball of snow clumsily hidden in his hands. 

“You seek a rematch, Reaver?” She called out, and Olaf could see that wolf’s smile forming on her face. He replied by loosing the snowball in his right arm. Sejuani dodged this, and crouched low to gather her own.

“So you’ve chosen death!” She barked, and with mirthful laughter she leapt into battle.

The sounds of battle and the cries of mirth had roused the rest of the clan, and so it was that the whole of the tribe joined in on the first great Snowbattle of the Winter’s Claw.


	2. Lessons in Astrology, Tastes of Cornbread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our favorite aspects of the Sun and Moon respectively enjoy a quiet evening. Featuring a brief cameo of the most magnificent of all beings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so the title is a lie, the summary is a lie, in short I'm a dirty dirty liar, but I'm not going to change anything. Enjoy the second installment and let's see if I can sum up the willpower to make good on my promises.

The vistas available among the peaks of Targon changed little through the course of seasons, but Leona has learned to appreciate all the skies, to understand how they dance together and with Targon. Once she feared and cursed the dark sky of night and its silver matron. Now she basks in their argent choir. She sees the face of the one who shares the mountainside view with her on this Winter Solstice’s night. Leona finds that the face of her companion makes the moon its reflection. She knows the length of silver hair to outrace the mountain’s wind. She feels how the heart beneath it all dims the sun itself in its blaze. 

“What, something in my teeth?” Diana asks.

“Only your smile,”

“That’s cornier than this bread!”

“There it is!” A redness tinges both their cheeks. Diana marvels at how Leona can so effortlessly make her smile, and Leona is thankful that Diana still lets her get away with it. 

“What do you think of it by the way?” Leona asks, gesturing to the loaf on the spread towel.

“Wonderful, I give my compliments to Atreus, as always”, Diana picks up the breadknife to cut away a slice of cornbread. 

“Actually, Zoe made this.” Leona replies, stifling a laugh when Diana’s hand freezes halfway through cutting the crispy golden crust. Diana seems to consider this revelation for several seconds before finishing the slice. She shrugs.

“Then the girl’s gotten better.” Diana says before taking a generous bite. “This bread has so far not shattered any teeth, or my knife.” She adds after chewing.

“Oh that’s a gem for a pebble.” Leona scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

“Still felt like trying to take a bite from the Mountain.” Diana insists and at this Leona nods in admittance. 

Leona’s gaze returns to the sunset before them. Diana, while chewing her cornbread, takes the opportunity to bask in Leona’s radiant glow. The pinks and reds of sunset combine play across aurelion skin. Diana watches as that radiant face crinkles in focus. That intensity in gaze, that captivated Diana since childhood, shines from between a cascading frame of auburn hair. If all the stars in the sky were to parade themselves before them now, none would hold a candle to Leona’s splendor. 

_____________________________________

“Tell me about that one” Leona points up into the dancing firmament. Diana tries to follow the finger to a specific star or constellation in the sky, but fails to.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” Diana reminds, stroking the russet waves that tumble from Leona’s head, which currently is resting in Diana’s lap, gazing upwards. Diana watches as Leona’s face again solidifies into focus. Her brows furrow in the effort of recollection. 

“South of the Protector’s feet, and a bit west of the Messenger”

“Oh, that one,” Diana’s eyes flick up into the space Leona suggested, and find what she expects. “That one is, special”

“Special?”

“Yes, quite so. That one is,” and Diana’s mind races for a moment, “The Herald of New Lights”

“Really? You’ve never mentioned that one before.”

“Oh well you never asked,”

“So what’s the Herald about? Not like”

“Not like Zoe, no, this one is a bit more reserved. She comes to us when the Night is at its zenith in the year. She watches as we gather ‘round our fires and talk of times gone by. She listens as we make our eager plans of what is to come. She is gentle because she does not demand that we face or scorn the coming day, but implores us instead to enjoy this longest night in the companionship of our families. On this night we renew our old oaths as we forge new ones. She is the divine witness of these oaths. And she reminds us of our commitments as the new year comes to its full.”

“That was beautiful” Leona murmurs, and Diana looks down to find the Aspect of the Sun gazing not at the stars above, but straight at her.

“You’re beautiful.” Diana counters. She relishes the triumph that comes with seeing the redness creep across Leona’s cheeks. 

“Stop it, did you make all that up?” Leona asks.

“Never, and did I make it up? Or am I the first to tell her tale?”

Leona laughs as she considers this, and Diana laughs too. 

___________________________________________

As the fire burns down to glowing coals, the pair lie in each other's embrace upon the ground, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket. Their combined radiance shines like a spot of twilight on the mountain up into the Celestial sea. 

They hold each other, as they always hold each other in times like these, like they may never get to hold each other again. Each remembers the years of conflict with bitterness and regret, but each finds solace in their newfound love. Theirs is a love that stretches over mountains, across continents, and even through the veil of space. To compare them to their celestial patrons would not capture the fullness of their relationship. The Great Dragon knows this, because he knows more about mortals now. He knows that because their time is brief, because they face the unknowable vastness of everything, they find and treasure those fleeting connections of love and friendship all the more. 

They’re a cute couple, Aurelion Sol decides, as he watches from an un-quantifiable distance away. 

“Puppy?”

A great sigh escapes the dragon. His attention shifts to a multicolored presence that is always able to find him.

“What is it Zoe?” Aurelion Sol pushes as much weariness into the question as an ageless being can muster. 

“I got you a present! For the Solstice!” The girl floats through the cosmos before his face. There was a time when the Maker of Stars would swat the tiny thing from the sky like a bug, but that time has passed. Instead, Aurelion contemplates reminding Zoe that such things like the trigonometric particularities of but a single three body system have no bearing on one such as he, but he knows that she knows, and she doesn’t care. Plus, after a near millenia, he is somehow finding it harder and harder to say no to those eyes.

“What is it?” He asks in defeat, hiding the smidge of curiosity he feels flickering within him. 

“It’s right behind you!” Zoe breaks into a smile and points over the Dragon’s shoulder, and so the Dragon turns. Behind the dragon, a comet dwarfing the planet of Runeterra spins on an axis, but this one is smooth on its face, and so when Aurelion looks into the comet, he sees what he considers to be the greatest view in the galaxy. 

He laughs. 

___________________________

“Did you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” Diana asks, pulling away.

For a second, the pair scrutinize their surroundings. Then Leona shrugs.

“Must’ve been the wind.”

And so the two get back to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! A bit rough around the edges, but I had fun writing it and I hope you had fun reading. Leave requests for what else you want to see. 
> 
> I'm trying to figure out how to do TalQuinn so if you have any suggestions I'd really appreciate them!


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